She was different from anyone there, but she still sang loud and bright and beautifully in the court.
Her beautiful song suggested a place where everyone is equal.
No one is hated, no one is oppressed.
Her song gained attention from those everywhere.
They turned on their radios and TVs and opened their newspapers to hear her song.
She sang for those listening. Sang to honor their voices, just so they could feel like people, like everyone else.
Ruth was finally heard, heads turned.
She became the star of the choir, singing louder and louder.
She worked so hard, faced so many challenges, but she kept singing.
All of this just so the people could feel like people.
that they would never get to live in a world where they mattered.
But why did she have to work so hard, just so people could feel like people?
Why does the heroine have to climb a higher tower to save the princess than the hero?
She slowly tuned out the voices of those who sang for inequality.
She was the star of every performance, the role model of every girl.
No voices outshined hers.
She kept her choir in perfect harmony.
She had always been the loudest.
Everyone singing with her thought she had the most angelic voice--the most meaningful, powerful.
Why didn’t she use this voice for riches or wealth? But she didn’t sing for that.
She sang for the dreamers and the can’t-hear-my-screamers
because Ruth knew that if you didn’t dream, dreams would never come true,
and if your dream was never heard, then nobody would dream at all.
Nobody would get what they dreamed of, they would simply think it was impossible.
Ruth was there to prove that it wasn’t impossible.
And that’s why she sang.
Ruth sang for kindness against hate,
Love against tragedy,
Remorse against shamelessness,
Heroicness against passiveness,
Smiling against smirking,
Making things better against making things better for you.
She knew that those who hated would never succeed—
that hate will do no good for them.
She believed that love will win and hate will get you nowhere in the end.
and the people watched in awe.
even if her last breath is before the day her songs saved the world.
And the first thing she did. . .
Her voice became strained.
She was old, and she was running out of breath,
but she hadn’t yet.
As the years passed her voice still shone,
drowning out those who sang of hate,
and everytime she sang a song, it became weaker, and weaker,
until she was so old her voice was quieter than a dropping pin, yet so loud.
People were used to her song filling her ears.
It wasn’t over, not for Ruth.
It wasn’t over yet.
And so more years passed and her voice was on the verge of falling out.
Finally she sang her last note:
“My most fervent wish is that I will not be replaced until a new president is installed”
and just like that,
her breath ran out,
and her voice stopped.
The courtroom went silent.
The voices she had tuned out would begin to be heard again,
and the choir that sang behind her would try their best to keep harmony without her,
but not yet.
Nobody dared to utter a single note.
The whole world listened in on September 18, 2020,
as the nation spoke of the absence of the voice of Ruth Bader Ginsburg.
The days will continue—there is no stopping them—but music will never be the same,
and for now, all songs are gone.
They will be, until somebody who has a voice as powerful of hers will sing her song.
We will always have the echoes of her music in our ears.
These echos will never fade.
They are here to remind us that Ruth’s sacrifice was not in vain.
They are all there is until the music starts again.